Page 70 of Love and War

It took everything in me not to rub my stomach or just place my hands there. I knew I needed to tell him, but something was telling me to keep quiet. I know I should’ve just said something that night when I found out. I had planned to, but I couldn’t.

Not yet.

Most of the time I could ignore the pain, probably because I was sleeping or too distracted with the fact Killian was sitting right next to me. And he always rubbed my foot, always touched me in some sort of way. Just like he used to do.

I wanted to ask and beg him why he had left. But every time I went to, my mouth refused to form the words. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was scared the reason he left was me. That it was just plain and simple my fault he’d left. That I wasn’t enough.

We still hadn’t talked about why I was here in his cabin instead of the hospital. Every day it was the same thing. When I woke up, he gave me pain meds and checked my blood sugar. Then he helped me bathe, change, and even brushed my hair. At first, I tried to complain, and tell him I could do it myself, which I could. I’d probably regret my life and end up not brushing it.

The first week was rough to get into a routine, mostly because he ignored me.

The second week, after I screamed, we watched movies for the remaining day. That’s how we spent most of our time, and between movies, we’d talk. I asked him about living with Dimitri and Zane, and only after tensing and working his jaw back and forth, did he tell me he actually enjoyed living in Russia. That it was a lot different there, obviously. I waited for him to ask me to go back with him, but he never did. I tried not to be disappointed. But I couldn’t stop myself from being bitter and wanting to just lie in bed for the rest of the night by myself. I could be a single mother, that was fine. I didn’t need him.

After that we didn’t ask anything too personal. It was weird, we used to be so close but now there was a wall between us. I knew it was my doing. I was keeping that wall up.

I had to protect not only myself but little bean now.

I didn’t know if I could trust him. He was keeping me at arm’s length. Even though I could ask, he wouldn’t tell me why he left, or why we were here. Or anything that would be useful.

It was infuriating.

By the fifth week, we went back to rarely speaking. And honestly, I was fine with that. I was more than fine with it. I was ready to get these casts off me so I would never see him again. I didn’t care anymore. I was emotionally tired and physically tired. I just couldn’t be around him anymore.

“I want to go home,” I blurted out from the couch.

Killian’s head snapped towards mine, his eyes flaring as he narrowed them at me.

“No,” he grunted.

“I want to go home, Killian.”

“No,” he repeated.

“You can’t just keep me here!” I was getting angry. Who did he think he was?

“Really? Because it looks like I already am,” he smirked. This fucker really just smirked.

Rolling my eyes, I threw my legs off his lap, planting them on the ground. Wincing as I took the sling off my right shoulder, I stretched it out.

“What are you doing?” His voice was full of worry.

Getting to my feet, I stumbled to the bedroom, my shoulder no longer hurting too much. But I refused to speak. He won’t even listen to me, so fuck him.

“Aziza!” he yelled, following behind me. “What are you doing!”

Stumbling to the bathroom, I slammed the door shut and locked it before he could reach me. Even with the small amount of steps I took, my body began to ache.

“Open the door.” He tried to keep his voice calm, but I could tell he was anything but calm. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, he wouldn’t.

Taking a deep breath, I turned towards the mirror. The stupid mirror Killian always avoided when he carried me in here. It’s been almost six weeks, over a month of being trapped here and I had yet to see what I looked like.

My eyes widened the moment I looked up.

There was so much that was wrong. Everything was wrong. My hazel eyes were dull, life was taken from me. I had dark bags under my eyes; it looked like I had been punched. I knew my lip had been cut, but now I had an ugly red cut that had scabbed over from my bottom lip down to my chin on the left side. My hair was dead, no life, flat. I glanced down at my body, taking in the fact I was losing weight. My collarbone was sticking out more than usual.

Had I lost this much weight since the accident?

This had to be why Killian was always feeding me, checking my blood sugar.

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